


Strangers in the Night

by manic_intent



Series: Strangers in the Night [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Time, M/M, That AU where John and Arthur belong to different gangs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 16:43:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19816339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: John’s hand closed on the holster of his pistol. Before he could draw, someone hauled the stranger back. Big, handsome man with a red bandana and a blue flannel shirt. He smiled at the stranger with very white teeth. “Jameson, why’re you bothering a kid for?”Jameson scowled. “Ain’t none of your business, Morgan. Fuck off.”“It’s the middle of the day and I’m angling for a quiet drink. You starting a fight ain’t gonna be so quiet,” Morgan said.





	Strangers in the Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bbb136](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbb136/gifts).



> For B., who asked for Arthur/John RDR2 where they’re both from other gangs. Arthur with Dutch, John with someone else. 
> 
> Originally I was thinking about having Sadie head John’s gang, but then again I’ve done that already for most of my stories (where Sadie is the boss in the end). Was going to have Idris Elba instead, but I’ve already had a character based on him in American Outlaws. Anyway, this fic is an excuse to build my All Stars Western Team +John -Idris: 
> 
> Major/Samuel L Jackson: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=69UwVX6Riv8  
> Silas/Michael Fassbender: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFfsTsdJfF8  
> Park/Lee Byung Hun: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Tk80iXCspM  
> Ben/Russell Crowe: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i21UkLNCge4  
> Pei/Lucy Liu: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wMrDNnKcCoA
> 
> You won’t need to have seen their films to read this fic. :3

“How much?” asked the stranger. John turned from where he sat at the bar, keeping his hands clear of his holsters as he’d been taught. The stranger was a big man with a florid face, scarred down the throat. He stank of rotgut whisky and sweat. 

“Sorry, what?” John asked. He didn’t smell too good himself. Days on the trail did that to everyone, though the others had settled for dunking themselves in the river they were camped by. Pei had insisted on riding into town for a proper bath. She didn’t need babysitting, but it was easier to have a white man accompany a woman like Pei into frontier towns. John had drawn the short straw. 

The stranger jerked his chin at the stairs. “The Chinee’ girl. How much?” 

John resisted the urge to rub his palm over his face. Shit like this always happened to him. After all these years, Major still didn’t believe that John never got into trouble on purpose. Trouble happened _to_ John all the time. “She ain’t for sale.” 

“This is me being nice,” growled the stranger. He twisted his hand into John’s collar, hauling him an inch up from his stool. “If I ask again, I ain’t gonna pay, and you’re gonna have a broken nose to boot.”

John’s hand closed on the holster of his pistol. Before he could draw, someone hauled the stranger back. Big, handsome man with a red bandana and a blue flannel shirt. He smiled at the stranger with very white teeth. “Jameson, why’re you bothering a kid for?” 

Jameson scowled. “Ain’t none of your business, Morgan. Fuck off.” 

“It’s the middle of the day and I’m angling for a quiet drink. You starting a fight ain’t gonna be so quiet,” Morgan said. 

“Hell’s your problem?” Jameson roughly shrugged off Morgan’s hand. “Wanna take this outside, huh? Huh?” 

Morgan sighed. “You’re drunk, asshole. Ain’t even gonna be—” He lashed out with a sledgehammer of a right hook. Jameson dropped, poleaxed. “—fun.” Morgan glanced at the barkeeper, who shook his head slowly. “You rather I got into a brawl?” 

“I don’t rather you got into nothing,” the barkeeper said, at which point John managed to stop gawking at Morgan’s bared arms. Damn. 

“Thanks for that,” John said. He hoped he wasn’t starting to flush under his hat. “I’ll uh. How about I buy you one.” 

“You even old enough to drink?” Morgan said, amused. He sat on the stool beside John and gestured at the barkeeper, who poured him a finger of whisky. “What’s your name?” 

“John,” John said.

“Arthur.” Arthur knocked back the whisky even as John’s brain finally connected the dots. He tried not to tense up, but Arthur noticed—he flicked a glance over John curiously. “What?”

“Arthur Morgan. Of the Van der Linde gang?” John asked. It was all he could do to keep his hands on the table around his drink.

“Why don’t you yell that louder while you’re at it?” Arthur chuckled instead of getting offended, though. “You a bounty hunter, kid? You don’t look the part.” 

“I’m not a kid,” John said, annoyed. “What’re you doing here?” 

“Getting a drink and saving people who ain’t kids from themselves, I reckon,” Arthur said. 

“I didn’t need your help.”

Arthur tipped his fingers at John’s gun. “Jameson’s a hustler, but he’s friends with the sheriff ‘round these parts. If you’d shot him you’d have had to leave town. With your lady still in the bath.” 

“She ain’t nobody’s lady.” John bristled. “Don’t know why that’s so hard for people to understand.” 

Arthur stared at John appraisingly, but John refused to look away. “All right,” Arthur said after a pause. “I apologise.” 

“Uh. Right. Good,” John said, taken aback. He was dreading Arthur asking about his business, but Arthur only drank. While John was trying to work up a subtle way of asking Arthur again about _his_ business, Pei came down the stairs. She glanced at the unconscious Jameson laid out on the floor, then at John and Arthur, raising her eyebrows. John got up from the barstool. “Nice meeting you, Mister Morgan.”

“Arthur,” Arthur said. He tipped his hat at Pei. “Miss.” 

“Hell was that about?” Pei asked when they mounted up outside. 

Pei was back in britches, blouse, and a hunting coat. She wore her hair in a braid over a shoulder and under a tan hat, which did little to hide her delicate, fine-boned face, her small red mouth, her large dark eyes. It was part of the point. Even if Pei refusing to hide always brought trouble. Men got funny around a beautiful woman, and if the woman wasn’t white—hell. Pei’s own brass-etched Schofield wasn’t for show. 

“The usual,” John said. He gave Pei a brisk summary as they rode out of town at a brisk clip. At the end of it, Pei glowered at John. 

“You should’ve shot Morgan in the gut.”

“You was in the bath!”

“So? I’d have understood. Probably come down and helped,” Pei said, because despite appearances she was the most terrifying person in the Major gang. “Morgan’s a competitor.” 

“He wasn’t doing nothing but getting a drink,” John said defensively. “And he helped.”

Pei eyeballed John as she took her dapple mare into the trees with John beside her. “You bought him a drink.”

“Yes? Why?” 

“He’s a handsome man, John, I get it,” Pei said, ignoring John’s horrified sputtering, “and I know, you're young, but you really shouldn’t be thinking with your cock.” 

This was why Pei was terrifying. She had a natural instinct for blood. John wilted. “Please don’t tell Major.”

“Tell Major what?” A man stepped out from behind one of the trees in front of them. It was Silas, a rifle cradled loosely in his hands, his cold eyes flicking between Pei and John under his hat. The tall ginger Irishman scowled at them both. “Weren’t y’all only gunna be gone fer a wee bit?” 

“We were gone as long as we had to be,” Pei said, unrepentant. “Something you’d understand if you’d ever had a real bath, Irish.” 

Silas sniffed and waved them on, watching the woods. He was a strange one. Wasn’t given to much other than smoking—didn’t drink, didn’t play cards, didn’t whore. His dour face only came alive when he was sighting down a gun. Not that being a violent man made Silas much different from the rest of Major’s gang. Everyone had what Ben liked to call an ‘unfortunate tendency toward primal things’.

Major was sitting on a rock with a crate before him, studying a map. Park was crouched beside him, Ben perched on another rock. The horses were grazing to a side with the oxen that pulled their supply wagon, tents set up closer to the river and the main campfire. Major smiled as John got close, baring his gold tooth under his grizzled beard. There was a fire in him that burned in his dark eyes, that drew people close. Even though Major was one of the most dangerous and unpredictable people John had ever met. It’d been eight years since Major had dug him out of a lawman’s cell, and John still didn’t know Major’s real name, or why he’d bothered with John, or how exactly he’d come to be an outlaw. _Ain’t gonna live in ‘civilisation’ bowing and scraping, going ‘yes suh, no suh’ to no white man_ , was what Major once said when John had dared to ask. _Out here, a man with a gun is just a man with a gun. Don’t matter what colour his trigger finger is._

“The prodigals return,” Major said.

“Sorry we took a while,” John mumbled as they dismounted. He took the reins of their horses as Pei got down. 

Pei sniffed loudly and squeezed onto the rock beside Ben. He made way for her without a word, dressed as always like a dashing gentleman, in his round hat and deep blue coat. He smiled warmly at them both with twinkling eyes. “Nobody here’s going to deny Pei any of her feminine rituals,” he said in his lazy drawl. 

“Rituals my ass, Ben.” Pei smacked Ben on the arm. “Y’all are an embarrassment. Grown men who don’t appreciate the necessity of a real bath now and then.” 

Park muttered something under his breath but said nothing when Pei glowered at him. They’d been riding together before they’d both signed on to the gang, and were often mistaken for siblings even though Park was Korean and Pei was Chinese. “White people,” was all Park would say about it if he could be bothered to speak at all. He was a lean man who liked waistcoats and suits and gloves, his clothes as fine as his knives. 

John unsaddled the horses and brushed them down as he listened. “Guess who we ran into in town,” Pei was saying. “Arthur Morgan.” 

“Van der Linde gang’s probably close by somewhere,” Major said as Ben let out a low whistle. “You shoot him?”

“No,” Pei said. “Tempting, though. He was being real friendly with John.” 

“Ain’t like that,” John muttered. 

“Probably should’ve.” Park glanced over at John, who ducked his head. “Easier.” 

“Doesn’t change things,” Ben said as he held up his hands soothingly, always the peacemaker. “Fact that Dutch is around these parts means our intel’s good. The bullion train will be coming through here and not up north.” 

“Morgan might be in town incidentally. I don’t like to speculate without much evidence.” Major frowned at the map, scratching at his moustache. “The Van der Linde gang’s still a complication I don’t like. If they’re really here for the train or get wind of it, there’s more of them than there are us.” 

“Most of their gang don’t ride out with them on a job,” Ben disagreed. “They’re over twenty people, sure, but near half’s that just camp hands and small thieves. Hell, I hear they’ve even got themselves a reverend.”

“A real one, or just a man who likes spouting Scripture now and then to sound learned, like certain people?” Pei said with a pointed stare at Ben. 

Ben clutched his hands over his heart. “Oof. You wound me yet again. Sorely.” 

“The people who ride out with Dutch are still plenty dangerous,” Pei said, counting off her fingers. “Still more of them than us. Morgan. Williamson. The Callahans. Bell… plus Dutch, there’s about eleven guns. Fact that the rest are camp hands don’t mean shit. Dutch has a lot of people to feed. He'll need big jobs like the bullion train.”

“All right, all right. John,” Major called. John shuffled over, surprised that he was being included. At eighteen and a half, he was still the youngest in the camp by a mile, and as such was usually stuck running errands and caring for the horses during downtime. 

“Sir,” John said, sheepishly wiping down his hands over his pants. 

“How friendly was you with Morgan?” Major asked. 

“I bought him a drink? Don’t see what’s wrong with that. He didn’t know who I was, and he’d knocked out someone who was being rude to Pei.”

“No need to get so defensive now, son,” Major said, smiling toothily. “Was just a question, Lord.” 

John was all too aware that he was definitely bright red now. “Right.” 

“Bullion train ain’t due for days yet, if it really is coming this way,” Major said, gesturing at the map. “Could be that in these few days you might run into Morgan in town or in the wilderness hereabouts. Might be you should find out whether the Van der Linde gang’s out for our bullion or if Mister Morgan’s just out enjoying the sunshine.” 

“I asked. He didn’t wanna tell me nothing,” John said. 

Major made a dismissive gesture. “Try harder. Buy him more drinks. Use a little charm. Surely that ain’t beyond you.” 

Park sighed. “Why are we leaving intel-gathering to the idiot?” 

John scowled, even as Pei laughed and Ben said, “Now, now. That ain’t fair. We can’t help what we are.”

“Fuck y’all,” John muttered. 

Major held up a palm for quiet. “We’ll still be casing the area as planned. It’s a big gig and I want to do it right. Be careful, yeah? Lie low. I don’t wanna be digging nobody out of no sheriff’s office until the deed’s done.”

#

Major was gonna be pissed. And it _still_ wasn’t John’s fault. John had been minding his own business, trying to bring down a deer for everyone’s dinner, when Jameson had seen him from the road with a pair of thugs at his back. Man was itching for a fight, and if John hadn’t been mindful of Major’s order to lie low, he’d have shot first instead of trying to make a run for it. Things had escalated from there, what with John’s horse getting shot out from under him. Lawmen happened on John just as he shot Jameson through the head, at which point things had gone ‘bat feckin’ sideways’, as Silas would put it.

Things would’ve gone badly if Arthur hadn’t appeared out of nowhere. He’d charged into the fray on a warhorse, shotgun in hand, discharging the barrel right into the first lawman. John concentrated on shooting instead of gawking. Bullets chipped the tree he was taking cover behind, but soon everybody was more preoccupied with the wolf among them. The second lawman’s head disappeared into red mist. The last thug tried to run, only to get a blast in the back. John blew out the last thug’s brains just as Arthur expertly veered his horse around and caught the reins of one of the now-riderless horses. Nice horse, too, a snorting chestnut mustang. 

“Good shooting,” Arthur said. 

“You too. Thanks for the save.” John didn’t move far from the tree or holster his gun as Arthur nudged his horse closer, tossing John the reins to the mustang. 

“You probably could’a handled it,” Arthur said, with a handsome smile. John flushed and ducked his head, holstering his gun and getting onto the mustang’s back, patting his neck until it calmed down and stopped snorting. “C’mon. We should get out of here.” 

“Where?” John asked, wary again. 

“I know a place.” 

Hell, why not. The direction Arthur picked was away from camp anyhow, and under Major’s rules, anyone who fucked up badly enough to kill lawmen within a day’s ride from camp had to stay away until they were sure they weren’t bringing any heat home. Arthur took a path through the plains, avoiding the roads. “Sorry about your horse,” Arthur said. 

“Oh. Yeah.” John didn’t get too attached to his horses, not like Silas. Silas, who loved his horse more than he liked people. Would spend all day talking to it instead of everyone else if he could.

“What was its name?” Arthur asked. 

John stared at Arthur, trying to figure out if Arthur was working up to a joke about John being a kid or something worse. “Old Boy,” John said. He didn’t really bother naming his horses anything fancy. Most of the camp didn’t. Major called every horse he ever used ‘Stranger’, and John followed suit. Even Silas just named his horses after people he knew. Was only Ben what called his horses funny names out of the books he liked to read. 

“Really?” Arthur looked amused. At John’s glare, he laughed and looked away. “All right, sure.” 

“You one of them people with fancy names for their horses?” 

“Probably, yes.” Arthur patted the neck of the powerful grey Dutch Warmblood he was riding. “This lady here’s Boadicea.” 

“Boadi-what?” 

“Celtic Queen from… Never mind.” 

“I got a friend who likes to call his horses names out of books,” John said, wishing they weren’t talking about goddamned horses and at the same time, glad that they were even talking. “He uh, has a Standardbred he calls ‘Hengroen’.” 

That got an amused glance from Arthur. “King Arthur’s horse, huh?” 

“What? King?” John said, startled. “I didn’t mean—”

“Jesus, kid. Calm down. I was just joking around.” 

Again with the ‘kid’. John set his jaw. “You blind or what, man? I ain’t a kid.” 

“Probably not,” Arthur said, still amused. “What’re you doing out here, huh? By yourself. Picking fights with Jameson _and_ the law at the same time. Your lady friend gonna be fine while you’re gone?”

“She can take care of herself. Probably better’n me,” John admitted. 

Arthur laughed. “I see that.” He had a nice laugh, warm and throaty and deep. John tried to memorise the sound, to hold it close. He knew what this was now. Infatuation. He’d felt it now and then growing up, always with other men. Hell, he’d even fancied Ben when he’d been younger, though long-term exposure to the man’s many weird eccentricities had disabused John of that real quick. John had gotten used to keeping what he felt to himself. He’d seen all the ways it could go sideways. 

They stopped riding when it got dark. The place Arthur had been talking about was an out-of-the-way nook near a stream in the forest, a hollowed-out natural cave that had a spot for a campfire. Arthur started unpacking his sleeping roll from the back of his horse and hesitated as he glanced at John. “You got enough supplies on that horse?” 

John got off and checked. The mustang had a sleeping roll tucked against its saddle, and the saddlebags had some weapons and tins of food. It was a sight better than what John had in his old kit. John shared out tins of peaches and beans as Arthur took out a wrapped packet of jerky and some coffee from his own supplies. John got the fire going, and as it lit up he glanced over and noticed Arthur watching him. Again with that appraising look, except this time it was different somehow. It lit a heavy, warm curl in John’s gut that he didn’t really know how to deal with. 

As they shared dinner, Arthur said, “You in a gang, John?” 

John nearly tried to lie and stopped at the last moment. Major had always said John was a shit liar. “What d’you think?” John asked. 

Arthur smirked. “Think you are. Ain’t nobody your age who ain’t in a gang who can shoot like you do. Hold their nerve under fire. Then there was that lady with you. She had a gun under that coat, I’m sure of that. When she was coming down the stairs and saw you with me, for a moment I thought she was gonna draw on me.” 

“She was pretty tempted,” John admitted. Arthur grinned at him, pouring him some coffee. As John took the cup, their hands brushed together. He was sure that he gasped. It’d felt like a shock, that sudden warmth. Arthur’s gaze was heavy with a question that John wasn’t sure whether he should answer. John looked away, sipping the coffee. “What about you? What’re you doing around here?” 

“I like to ride out on my own some days,” Arthur said. He watched sparks from the fire dance in the gloom, twisting toward the cloudless sky. “I like the quiet. Just me and my horse.” 

“So it ain’t about a job,” John said, relieved. 

Arthur glanced at him, cocking his head. “What job?” 

“Well uh. You just riding around by yourself, don’t Dutch care? You’re his right-hand man, ain’t you?” John fumbled for a save. “That’s what I’ve heard.”

“Dutch don’t own me. What about you? Your boss gonna mind that you’re staying out?” 

“Them’s the rules. Lawmen got shot. I got to stay low for a bit.” John tried smiling at Arthur, though he knew it usually pulled his face in awkward ways. “Least this time I got good company.”

“You get into trouble often, John?” Arthur chuckled again. 

“Ain’t usually me getting into trouble.” John dared to shift closer. When Arthur just watched him, he got closer yet. “Think it’s more that trouble finds _me_.” He kissed Arthur clumsily on the lips. Arthur went very still. Just as John was about to jerk back and apologise, fingers curled into his hair, crushing John into a bruising kiss. 

John was panting when they parted, his lips kiss-swollen, wide-eyed and sprawled in Arthur’s lap. “You sure about this?” Arthur asked in a husky voice. His cock felt hard and hot through his pants, pushed against John’s thigh. 

“Y-yeah,” John said, clutching at Arthur’s shirt. “Jesus. Didn’t think you’d. Well. Was hoping, but. Didn’t think you’d wanna.” 

Arthur cut off John’s babbling with a deeper kiss, licking over his teeth, stroking a warm palm down his back. Again and again, until John was squirming against Arthur and moaning. Arthur was petting the jitters out of him, the fear and the shame. There was no accusation in Arthur’s eyes, no loathing or disgust. Only desire, warm and playful and tender. “‘Course I wanna,” Arthur said, nudging his hips up against John’s thigh. “Look at you.” He rubbed his thumb over the faint stubble on John’s jaw. “Pretty boy like you.” 

Pretty? _John_? John’s sheer bewilderment made Arthur laugh and lean in for another kiss. John wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, running them lightly over Arthur’s chest. Arthur felt like solid muscle to the touch, and he let out a low rumble of pleasure as John drew his palms down his ribs to his belly. “You done this before, John?” Arthur asked as John’s fingers bumped against his belt. 

“Uh, no,” John said, distracted with Arthur’s buckle. He glanced up as Arthur closed his hands on his fingers, stilling him. 

“‘No’ as in, never with a man, or?” 

“Just no,” John said, and scowled as Arthur gave him a long, considering look. “What?” 

“I ain’t a good man, John,” Arthur said after a while, “so if you don’t push me away now, I _am_ gonna have you.” He squeezed John’s ass meaningfully. 

“Thought that was the goddamned point,” John said, with as much bravado as he could muster, and dragged Arthur up for a kiss. 

Arthur shut up. They stripped down, fumbling off shirts and belts and underclothes into messy piles in the dirt as they kissed. In the firelight, John took his time feeling out every scar he could get to on Arthur’s powerful body, tracing out the seams. It was somehow comforting to see evidence that Arthur was mortal, that the avenger that had ridden to John’s defence was human, that this handsome, grinning man between John’s thighs was just like John. Flesh and blood and drunk with lust. Arthur raked John over with hungry eyes as he stroked John’s cock with spit-wet fingers. John ground himself down pointedly until he was rubbing against Arthur’s heavier, bigger dick, moaning against Arthur’s throat. It felt better than he thought it would, skin-to-skin with a man this handsome. John whined as the tip of his cock caught against Arthur’s, rubbing down against the hard planes of Arthur’s belly.

Arthur chuckled. His hand moved out of sight and returned slicked with something smooth as he rubbed a finger into John’s cleft. He kissed John hard as John made an inquiring noise, sliding a thick finger _into_ John, God. John went very still with an annoyed noise—the fuck—and squirmed as Arthur got the finger in to the knuckle. “It’ll get better, trust me,” Arthur gasped as John growled. John bit him but tried to relax, tried to concentrate on rubbing one off against Arthur. 

Two fingers and it started to hurt, as much as Arthur tried to be careful. John squirmed angrily, rearing back to glare at Arthur—and yelped as Arthur touched something inside him that made him jerk against Arthur like a fish on a line. 

“There we are,” Arthur said. He mouthed kisses over John’s neck as he did it again, thrusting his fingers against whatever it was inside John. 

John moaned. He dug his nails into Arthur’s shoulders and bucked clumsily between Arthur’s hand and his cock, desperate for something he could not name. It wasn’t just release—that burned through him fast, making him yelp Arthur’s name as he spilled against Arthur’s belly, clawing weals down Arthur’s chest. Wasn’t the way Arthur grunted in satisfaction and kissed John until John took Arthur in hand to get him off with urgent strokes. It was something in the way they curled together when they’d dressed and cleaned up, tangled in the heavy air, listening to the fire burn out. John didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing.

#

John woke up at the sound of a loud click close to his head. “Easy there,” Pei said as Arthur sat up sharply. She was standing just out of reach, a pistol drawn on Arthur.

“Pei,” John said, surprised. “Hell are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you that,” Pei said without looking at him. “What with us finding your horse shot dead and lawmen looking high and low for whoever killed five men, two of them law.” 

John grimaced. “Wasn’t my fault.”

“Yeah, you say that every time, jackass. C’mon. Move. Get behind me. _Move_ ,” Pei growled. 

“Morning, miss,” Arthur said, not in the least afraid as he looked up at Pei. 

John got up slowly. “Put the gun away. He don’t mean nobody any harm.” 

“He sure won’t if I shoot him a few times,” Pei said, though she grudgingly stepped back and holstered her gun. She stared at John, sniffed, and pointed into the forest. “I’m gonna be waiting over there. Don’t take too long. You’re already in enough trouble—everyone spent the whole night searching for your ass.”

“Sorry,” John mumbled, devoutly glad that he’d gone to sleep in his clothes. Pei gave Arthur a last, considering glance and melted away into the forest. 

Arthur chuckled as he got to his feet, stretching. “That’s us done, then,” he said. 

The casual way Arthur said it made something wilt away inside John. “Yeah,” John said. He concentrated on rolling up his sleeping roll instead of looking at Arthur and flinched as a hand landed on his shoulder. 

“Hey,” Arthur said softly. He pulled John up. “Y’know. You could come with me. Dutch could always use another gun, and you’re a fine shot.” 

It was tempting, but only because he was standing this close to Arthur, breathing his air. “Or you could come with me,” John countered. “My boss could use someone like you.” 

“Guess that’s how it is,” Arthur said. He leaned in to steal a quick peck from John’s lips and stepped back before John could say anything more, tucking his thumbs into his belt and going quiet as John packed his saddlebags and got onto the mustang.

John hesitated before he took the horse into a trot, turning back to Arthur. “Hey, uh. My new horse. Maybe you could give him a name. You’re. Probably better at that than me.” 

Arthur laughed, the stillness in his face fading to warm humour. “How ‘bout ‘Tacitus’?” 

“Tacitus it is. See you around, Arthur.” John tipped his hat at Arthur. His chest felt like it was getting tight by the time Arthur’s camp faded out of sight between the trees. 

Pei was waiting for him close to the road on her grey horse. “You all right?” she asked solicitously, instead of the quip that John had been braced for. 

“Yeah.” 

Pei shook her head as she nudged her horse into a trot. “We’ll regroup with everyone at the camp. Silas said… John? Sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” John grit out. He’d been drifting.

Pei leaned over and patted John on the arm. “You could go back,” she said kindly.

“Really?”

“Why not? Major wouldn’t mind. Nobody rides with him unless they want to. That’s how it’s always been. Shouldn’t you know that by now? You’ve been with him longer than everyone but Ben.” 

“How it’s always been,” John echoed. He glanced back at the trees, at where Arthur was probably sitting down to breakfast. John briefly let fantasy take him. Riding back to Arthur. Joining Dutch’s gang. Dutch, whose reputation preceded him, him and that of the brutal men he kept by his side. Men like Williamson, like the Callahans. Like Arthur. Hard men who weren’t likely to spend all night looking for John if he ever went missing. 

“Nah. I don’t think so. Also, I don’t think the Van der Linde gang is angling to get on that bullion. Arthur said he was just ranging around here by hisself,” John said.

Pei grinned wickedly. “By the way, when Major told you to use a little charm, I don’t think he meant to get right down and fuck the man. That’s going above and beyond by my books.” 

John groaned. “ _Please_ don’t tell Major.”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: @manic_intent  
> about my writing etc: manic-intent.tumblr.com  
> 


End file.
